Stability
by cowlicklesschick
Summary: Okay look if the show writers are going to torture us like this then I am going to need some therapy fics. Waige fluff. Set anytime, it doesn't matter because this literally has no plot.
If Walter were being honest with himself, it was her hands that did it.

Honesty, however, was presently something he wasn't exactly good at, so he didn't feel terribly guilty about denying that any one component of the kiss posed a problem, he just chose – rationally, logically – to end it.

His memory wasn't like Sly's, but it was pretty close; he remembered every millisecond he had spent with his lips pressed against Paige Dineen's. He remembered how she had smelled, how soft and warm she had been, that little whimper in the back of her throat when he had pressed just that much harder, leaned in that much closer.

But it was still just a kiss. And while he definitely wasn't what Ray called ' _boyfriend material'_ , Walter O'Brien had kissed more than one woman before Paige came into his life. And he kept telling himself that kissing Paige didn't sweep him away any more than kissing anyone else did.

At least, until he felt her hands on him – one on his shoulders, curling around the back of his neck, the other starting in his hair and caressing down the side of his face.

That was when he panicked.

He still wasn't really sure why – if a kiss is just a kiss, then shouldn't hands just be hands? – but something about it set off every warning bell in his head, and he had pulled away. Paige had looked up at him like she wanted to kiss him again. He had looked away like coward. She had said goodnight and left like a respectable, professional colleague. He had collapsed into her chair like a schoolboy with a crush.

It had all been so ridiculous. That was why he still thought about it. All the time. The sheer absurdity of a romantic relationship with a coworker was just laughable. It was a good thing his subconscious thought it prudent to remind him of how dumb it was. It served as a reality check, and it kept his feelings from growing stronger.

At least…it was _supposed_ to work that way.

That thesis was a lot harder to defend than he imagined, once everyone was gone for the night and the garage was dark and quiet. His shelves of old hard drives and spare parts weren't very comforting. Self-denial was pretty difficult when his imagination kept seeing disapproving faces in inanimate objects (not to mention Ferret Bueller.)

Still, he would have been fine if Paige hadn't come to work sick.

It had started out as a normal workday – he was up early, showered and dressed and elbows-deep in his current code when the gang started showing up. It wasn't until seven-thirty came and went that it occurred to him that Paige was usually here by now. He debated calling her, but thought maybe she was just running late today – it happened to everyone now and then, even a meticulous planner like Paige – or there might be traffic.

By quarter till, he was growing agitated. He had just gotten up to go ask Happy if she'd passed any wrecks on her way in, since she lived closer to Paige and Ralph's apartment than any of them, when the door opened.

He sighed in relief.

"Good morning," he greeted, only to frown when Paige stepped closer.

"Hi," she mumbled.

She got past him and made it to her desk before the rest of him caught up to his brain. Happy gave him a worried frown and joined him at Paige's desk.

"Are you sick?"

"No."

That was a bigger red flag than anything else. Paige did not give monosyllabic answers.

"Liar." Happy went to get Doc from the back of the garage.

Paige glared after her. "I'm _not_. I'll admit I don't feel a hundred percent, but I'm not ill."

Walter hummed, and before he could talk himself out of it, put his palm against her forehead.

"What are y – oh your hand is cold." She sighed contentedly and leaned into his touch. Walter bit back a smile and instead concentrated on her overheated skin. She was flushed but felt clammy, her eyes were glazed over and he could read fatigue in the slump of her shoulders.

"Miss Dineen, you're looking a little flushed there, and we all know it's not because Walter here has a knack for making a woman all hot and bothered," Toby crouched down by her chair. "So I'm gonna go with a middle-grade fever. Nothing too serious, just probably a day for bed."

Paige actually swayed slightly in her seat. "Bed…bed actually sounds really good right now."

"I'll drive you home," Happy offered.

Walter's mouth promptly did that thing where it operated without permission from his brain.

"No, she can rest up in the loft."

Three pairs of eyes stared at him – one confused, one confused and feverish, and one smug.

"It's more efficient," he protested. "At home she'd have to set an alarm so she takes her meds on time, not to mention she'd actually have to get up to get a drink – we can take turns here, and she'll get more rest."

Toby grinned. "Well, I'm not going to argue with that _logic_. Miss Dineen, you're in luck – one of our private rooms just opened. If you'll follow Walter upstairs he'll make sure you get taken care of."

He sent Walter a wink, and now even Happy looked like she was hiding a grin. Walter grit his teeth, and gently helped Paige stand up. He grabbed her purse, and slowly they went up the stairs.

Walter set her bag down on the table, but tugged lightly on her arm when she moved towards the couch. "Don't be silly, you can use my bed."

"Are you sure?" Paige said tiredly, as she stumbled a bit on the rug. Walter reached to steady her. "Don't want you to get sick. Bet you're even more insufferable than me."

He had to smile at that. "You're not being insufferable. You're just out of it."

He managed to seat her on the edge of his bed before he went to his dresser and pulled out an old t-shirt and gym shorts that he hardly ever wore. He placed the clothes on the bed beside her.

"I think these will be more comfortable to sleep in than what you have on, despite how nice you look."

It was true; he could never seem to talk himself out of giving her compliments when he believed she deserved them. Even when she was sick, Paige was lovely in a navy blue dress, and those short boots she liked. She gave him a tired smile.

"Ralph had to help me zip this dress earlier. I could almost get it, but it got stuck just below my shoulder blades. He could tell I didn't feel well this morning."

Walter swallowed, aware that Toby would probably record his next words and play them on a continuous loop if given the chance, and prayed that no one was using the intercom. "D-Does that…does that mean y-you need help, um….unzipping it, t-too?"

She blinked in surprise. "Uh…yeah, actually. That would help." She stood up and turned her back to him, pulling her hair over her shoulder, revealing a long, gold-colored zipper that started at the base of her neck and ended just above the swell of her hips.

 _Way to go, O'Brien._

He thought his hands might actually be shaking, but at least she was facing away from him. He gingerly held the pull between his thumb and index finger, and tugged it downward. Every inch revealed more and more soft skin, but he determinedly kept his hands on her dress, and his eyes on her neck.

At least until the zipper caught, and without thinking he glanced down.

"Oh," he said, trying not to hyperventilate, because when he woke up this morning he hadn't really anticipated finding out the exact color of Paige's undergarments.

"What is it?" Paige asked.

"It's, um. Nothing, j-just…it caught on…your, uh…"

 _You are a thirty-two year old man who can't even say the word bra,_ an inner voice that sounded an awful lot like Toby mocked him.

"Oh, sorry, here." Paige reached behind her, and undid the clasp.

Walter squeezed his eyes shut and fought the urge to flee the room.

"Did that help?"

 _How does seeing you half naked help anything?_ he wanted to ask. He cleared his throat. "Uh. Yes, actually."

He pulled the zipper the rest of the way down, and absolutely did _not_ look at all the new skin that peeked through along the way.

"Thank you," Paige turned around. Good. This was good. Less skin and more dress. "Can you do my shoes?"

He glanced down and frowned. "Uh. Okay."

Paige sat back down on the bed, and Walter dropped to his knees in front of her, reaching for her left foot.

He'd thought taking her shoes off would be better than unzipping her dress. Apparently he was wrong, because when she pulled her foot out he automatically – which, _hello, Walter's body, please stop acting without direct approval from Walter's brain_ – put one hand on her calf as she put her foot down on the floor.

He immediately got distracted by how soft and warm her skin was. But then he glanced up, and saw her smiling at him again (albeit thinly since she felt like crap) and he released her leg like he'd been scalded.

"O-other one," he mumbled.

Somehow he got her other shoe off without incident, and placed both boots on the floor at the foot of the bed. He turned back to see that Paige was still sitting on the bed, her eyes completely glazed over and looking like she was about to fall asleep then and there.

"Paige." He touched her shoulder and she jerked awake. "Sorry. Just…change clothes and I'll go get you some meds. Do you take acetaminophen?"

She nodded, but winced. "Yes. My head is killing me."

"You need fluids, too." Walter gently tugged her to her feet again and handed her the folded up clothes. "Here. I'll be right back."

He left for the kitchen, where he busied himself making her some tea; while it steeped he got her meds, a glass of water, and a clean cloth, and texted Cabe to pick up some things from the supermarket on his way to the garage.

Once the tea was ready, he gathered his supplies and headed to the bedroom. He sincerely hoped she was fully clothed, otherwise Toby would probably be able to _hear_ him blushing from all the way downstairs.

To his immense relief, Paige was standing in the middle of the room in his shirt and shorts, frowning.

"What's wrong with your shirt?" She asked, flopping her arms sideways like a small child. Walter wasn't sure why he wanted to smile, but he repressed the urge and set everything down on the table.

"You've got it on backwards," he told her. Her frown only deepened.

"Oh." She sounded rather irate with herself.

He did chuckle a little at that, but gently helped her pull her arms through the sleeves and get the shirt turned the right way, then guided her back to the bed. He pulled back the covers.

"All right, take these, and then I'll change the sheets while you drink this," he handed her the tea and pills. She obediently swallowed them and sipped from the mug while he grabbed the spare sheets from his closet and put them on. It didn't take him long, but she'd finished her tea by then, and she half-climbed, half-fell onto the mattress, and sat still while he tugged the duvet up over her lap.

"Walter?" She said softly.

"Yes?"

"Can you put my hair up?"

He swallowed. "Uh. Yeah, sure."

She had one of those hair-tie things around her wrist, and at first he tried standing beside the bed and reaching down, but found the angle was all wrong. He gave up and sat down behind her, and tried not to admit to himself how nice and smooth her hair felt, the honey-brown strands sliding between his fingers as he combed it into a ponytail. It probably didn't look that great, but he made sure not to miss any large pieces on her neck or the sides.

He secured it at the crown of her head, and started to get up but had yet another mini-heart attack when Paige leaned back against him, her head pillowed on his collarbone and her cheek pressed against his.

"Um – uh…P-Paige, I…"

There was no reply; he craned his neck and saw that she wasn't asleep, but was simply reclining against him.

Boy, was he glad Toby wasn't up here.

"I-I'm – uh, okay I'm done."

She didn't move.

"P-Paige?" He tried again.

She started a little, and sat up. "Oh – sorry."

"Okay." He stood up quickly without touching her. "You…you should probably sleep now."

She was still sitting upright, just staring at him like he was speaking a foreign language. He sighed and glanced at the door to make sure they were alone.

His hands found her shoulders and carefully pushed her backwards. She didn't protest, or even act surprised, when her head hit the pillow, and he carefully arranged the covers around her so she would neither overheat nor get chilled. He gave her a small smile before turning to walk away, but she grabbed his hand.

"Walter?"

Somewhere in the past year since Paige walked into his life, his hands grew accustomed to the feeling of hers. He wasn't entirely sure why it didn't bother him; he certainly wasn't comfortable holding hands with just anybody, but something about her fingers being laced through his own calmed him, helped him feel more centered and focused.

"What is it?"

"Can you text Ralph at some point and let him know I'm okay? He was worried this morning, and I told him I was fine, but – "

"I'll take care of it," he assured her.

She smiled gratefully. "Thank you. Not just for that; you've taken really good care of me."

"Oh, well," he shrugged, always at a loss whenever she started singing his praises like that. "I'm, uh, glad to help however I can. I'll let you sleep now. Your phone is here," he showed her on the bedside table, "so if you need anything, don't get up, just text one of us."

"Okay." Her hand wasn't holding onto his as tightly, and her eyes were drooping.

"I'll check on you in a little while."

"Mkay," she mumbled, but she was already asleep.

Walter sat there for a few more moments, unable to tear his gaze away. He wasn't usually one to put a great deal of importance in superficial things, but this woman captivated him. He'd spent the past several months learning her expressions, her gestures, the way her eyes would darken if she was angry, the curve of her mouth when she smiled, the way her voice lilted over his name –

Those thoughts were dangerous, he knew. But that didn't stop him from thinking them.

He smiled ruefully to himself, and after he checked the door one last time, bent down and brushed his lips against her hairline before he made himself get up and walk away.

/

It was roughly six o'clock that evening when Paige made her appearance in the kitchen. The team was gathered around the table for dinner, but when he saw her, Ralph stood up and almost knocked Happy to the floor in his rush to reach his mother.

To everyone's shock – and Paige's delight – Ralph threw his arms around her middle. She immediately reciprocated, but her surprised gaze found Walter's and he found himself smiling. It wasn't hard for him to understand Ralph's suddenly affectionate mood.

Paige combed one hand through her son's hair.

"Hi, sweetheart. How was school?"

He tilted his face up. "Long. Walter says you've been resting all day and your fever broke around lunchtime. You should feel completely normal in the morning if you drink plenty of fluids tonight."

And without another word, he trotted over to the counter and filled her a glass of water, brought it over, and took her hand to guide her into the chair next to Walter's.

Paige, wide-eyed, sipped her water obediently when she noticed Ralph staring at her. "Thank you, Ralph. I'm feeling much better."

Satisfied – for now – he turned back to his dinner, and conversation picked up again.

"That was…unexpected." Paige mused. She crossed one ankle under her; the gym shorts were too big in the waist, and she'd rolled the elastic over a few times to make them a better fit. Walter eyed the several inches of her thighs with mixed feelings of trepidation and longing.

"It's pretty understandable," he said at last. Paige turned away from her son and faced him, her brow wrinkled in confusion.

"You're hardly ever sick, so when it does happen it's a very…unsettling feeling for Ralph. It's destabilizing."

"Oh." To his surprise, she looked almost guilty. "I hadn't thought of it that way…"

"It's not your fault," he hastened to reassure her. "It does happen sometimes, you're only human after all. Just don't be shocked if he reacts that way every time. It's part relief that you're okay, and part relief that his world is returning to normal."

She nodded. "Okay."

They were silent for a few minutes – Ralph insisted his mother needed to eat, so to pacify him she nibbled on some bread, but eventually she turned to face Walter again.

"In light of this new information…I want to thank you again for everything you did today."

He shrugged. "Oh, well, you know the team, we all –"

"No, Walter," one of her hands rested on top of his. "I know the others checked on me. Toby watched my fever like a hawk and Happy snuck up there about every ten minutes and didn't think I noticed, and Sly has already sterilized my desk twice so I don't get sick again, but…whenever I woke up, _you_ were the one there right next to me."

Well. Yes, he had tried to be; he'd taken his laptop up with him and moved one of the chairs from his living area beside the bed, and spent the whole day typing as quietly as possible, waking her up to take meds and making sure to text Ralph often. But he couldn't shake the feeling that she was trying to tell him something else.

"It was the _opposite_ of destabilizing," Paige smiled. "It was really nice to know that you were there the whole time, taking care of me." She leaned over, and put one of her hands on his. "Thank you."

He looked at her, could tell that she was still tired, but her smile was same as always – soft and kind and it gave him strange sensations in his chest. He wasn't entirely sure if he liked those sensations or not.

It was easier than he thought it would be, to turn his hand over beneath hers so his fingers could curl around, his thumb brushing across her knuckles. The action made her smile change, just a little bit, but he noticed and felt an odd sense of satisfaction for being the reason for it.

"You're welcome."


End file.
